the day war broke out, part 3
It's all over, peace has broken out again. Hugo Chavez has been seen on TV shaking hands with the Colombian president (who is also elected, but more self-effacing, so I can't remember his name). Overnight the teeny soldiers who thronged the foyer of our hotel have gone, there are still a few outside, but things have really quietened down.
I did have a bizarre encounter: we've become used to a myriad of different uniforms, and many guns, which mostly look dull, utilitarian and rather depressingly funtional. On the day in question, however, my colleague and I were rather disconcerted to find ourselves travelling in a lift with a very chic soldier, sporting a very highly polished and chromed pump action shotgun. I didn't feel a strong urge to question him, somehow.
rain stopped play?
Oops, we had a good start today, this morning was bright and sunny and I was beginning to regret not having any sunblock with me. I ambled downtown towards Simon Bolivar Square, where the preparations were underway for the inaugural fiesta, this is as close as Colombia gets to carnival (although apparently rumba is very big here). We, of course, had been carefully scheduled to have a nice lunch with the head of the British Council, thus keeping us safely out of potential harms way.
Our welcome pack from our sponsors consisted of a plastic water bottle, a small backpack with 'British Council' (or 'mug me now') printed on it, and a few sheets of A4 detailing all the things it is not safe to do in Colombia, among which, had we chosen to follow the instructions to the letter, was going to eat with the British Council.
We were fed in a terrace restaurant, high above the town, and, as has been typical while we've been here, a rainstorm started while we were eating. We were high enough up to be above most of the storm (Bogota is at one end of the Andes), but it was very violent and quite exciting. I felt very sorry for all the hundreds of marchers we had passed on the way to the meal. Once we were done, en mass we spurned the festival minibus (on average it takes three times as long to get anywhere by car as it does to walk), and walked back to the hotel.
There wasn't really very much time to do anything much before I needed to be at the theatre, so, after a confused and ineffective attempt to talk to the Arts Correspondant via Skype, I headed for the theatre. I was greeted by a scene of utter confusion (and you must bear in mind that when it comes to confusion, we're working with pros), the last two days of very heavy rain might not have penetrated the shell of the theatre to any significant extent, but the bods who built the seating rostra and the stage upon sand, hadn't really taken the substrate into consideration, and certainly hadn't bothered to spread the load in any way. Consequently, after our first night full house, the seating was already sinking into the ground by as much as six inches in some places, and after the deluge this afternoon, the whole of the auditorium seating was starting to descend into the ground. I suppose if you use beer mats to spread the load then this is what will happen.
After a good deal of standing around and quite amicable pointing, this evenings performance was cancelled. I left the theatre to the sound of angle grinders, as they dismantled the auditorium preparatory to putting in proper footings for the rostra; if it rains again tomorrow they might need to consider pontoons.
Changing the subject briefly, assiduous readers may recall that I have an active interest in living things, and when I'm away I like to note any oddities or exotic specimens I encounter. Sadly, unless my observational faculties are very dimmed, all I have seen thus far have been a few dogs and some very scabby pigeons. There are no birds in the sky; I saw a small brown moth in a bar last night, and I think I have seen two flies. This leads me to the conclusion that, although Colombia is ranked ninth in the world for atmospheric probity (the UK is 13th, I was paying attention at lunch), this is possibly because the major polluters are concentrated in very small areas, and when they're bad they're horrid.
the day war broke out, part 2
Three days in, and we're just about getting our theatre together. We're performing in the oldest theatre in Bogota, built in the 1920's. It is currently undergoing renovations, which broadly means, that we are performing in an empty shell, with mud floors and a temporary stage in the auditorium. The experience of performing in Colombia is strangely similar to that of putting on a show in Rio eighteen months ago, the crews are very willing and hardworking, but simply don't believe the information that they are given in advance. Thus lanterns are substituted at will, and they feel free to improve on the plan when it suits them.
The show we are doing is based around a loose concept of 'unsuccessful rock band' although there are no actual musicians, but we do have woodenheaded and singleminded roadies, bad 1970's rock lighting and a hundred cliches explored. The whole visual concept depends on there being a complete, small, working sound system onstage, this then feeds the main sound system. We haven't yet toured to a venue where this idea has been understood, there are always arguments, and plenty of helpful suggestions; Bogota is no exception.
As for the war, there are plenty of soldiers about, mingling happily with the dozens of private heavily armed security guards, and today there was a very large peace demonstration, other than making the traffic even more chaotic, I can't say that there is a great sense of unease.
the day war broke out...
Having transferred across the snake pass to the relative civilisation that is a Manchester Airport hotel, I am mildly disconcerted to see a 'breaking news' report on Sky News saying that Hugo Chavez (Venezualen President), has ordered several battalions of troops to mass on the Colombian border. A little research reveals that the border is more than 2000km long (thank you China News agency), I suspect this is sabre rattling/posturing, and the arrival of an internationally renowned experimental theatre company is only a coincidence.
Having said that, the november 'Axis of Evil' tour was cancelled, and all previous attempts to perform in Beirut have been greeted by local anarchy, maybe there is a connection after all. Doesn't seem to work in Leeds though. More reports from the horses mouth, if there's any internet of course.
Blacklisted!
Currently sitting in the foyer of a certain Yorkshire theatre, which demonstrates all the worst aspects of the british theatrical obsession with trying to prevent you from actually putting a show on. We've been performing two different shows (by invitation), both of which have been in the repertoire for at least four years, and have been performed in major theatres all over the world. Only here in Leeds, it would appear, there are whole departments dedicated to finding reasons not to do the show right here. This is a producing house, and the staffing structures are so rigid and hierarchical that it is hard to imagine a chippy daring to touch a lantern (at least not without written permission from all relevant HODs). Similarly, there seems to be a grade of dullness and lack of interest that pervades the system, if you don't work the way they do, then they're not interested.
Trying to get this particular company to do stuff or be somewhere at a specific time is like herding cats, and they are adept at ignoring authority figures, so I derived a certain amount of wry pleasure from watching the house stage manager attempting to get the company back on stage for the post-show discussion. It was only when I suggested that their tray of drinks was shifted onto the stage, that they actually complied.
My final gripe, for the moment, is that the theatre has very good web access, however, it has the most draconian naughty filter that I have ever encountered, so far The Deep North has been blacklisted, as was a download of a smoke fluid toxicity data sheet (demanded by the theatre), I haven't even tried eBay.
More pleasantly, on monday we're off to Bogota to do four shows, and for the first time in my life I'm an actual millionaire, sadly only a peso millionaire, but never mind. My researches suggest that every street corner will be populated by sinister moustachioed drug dealers offering cocaine and handfuls of uncut emeralds for sale, I suspect the reality will be somewhat less exciting.
